The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [24]
Agatha grinned ruefully. “And leave me with all the lost cats, dogs and children? Still, it might be worth a try.”
Charles accompanied her to the office. Patrick Mullen was dictating notes to Miss Simms, who was typing them out on her computer with such long nails that Agatha wondered how she managed.
Emma was sitting on the sofa with a small Yorkshire terrier at her feet. “I’ve phoned the owner,” said Emma. “She’s coming round.”
She did not look at Charles, who said breezily, “Hi, Emma!”
Emma murmured something and bent down to stroke the dog.
“Patrick,” said Agatha, “stop what you’re doing. I need you on this shooting case.”
The owner of the dog came in as Agatha was talking and was effusive in her thanks.
When she had left, Emma consulted her notes. Another missing teenager, seventeen-year-old girl called Kimberly Bright. Emma sighed. Charles came and sat beside her. “You look fed up. What’s up?”
“Eve got to start looking for a missing seventeen-year-old. It’s difficult for me because there’s such a generation gap, I don’t know anything about how they behave these days.”
“Miss Simms would know,” said Charles. He interrupted Agatha. “Agatha, Emma’s got a seventeen-year-old to look for. Miss Simms might have a better idea about how to go about it. Why don’t you let her have a go and Emma can do the typing?”
“Ooh, I’d love to try,” said Miss Simms.
“Oh, all right,” said Agatha. “Give Miss Simms the file, Emma. I’m taking Patrick out for an early lunch so I can continue filling him in on all the details.”
Charles raised his eyebrows. He reflected that Agatha, preoccupied as she now was, could be amazingly rude and insensitive.
“I’m sure Emma could do with a break as well,” he said. “Ell take you to lunch, Emma.”
Emma flushed up with pleasure. But her face fell when Agatha snapped, “And who’s going to answer the phones?”
“I’ll stay here,” said Miss Simms. “It’ll give me a chance to study the photographs and read up on where you’ve looked, Emma.”
Emma was momentarily diverted by the thought that it was ridiculous that a young woman like Miss Simms should call her by her first name and yet she herself was somehow bound by the ladies’ society tradition of second names only.
Then, to her dismay, Agatha turned in the doorway and said* “Sorry, Charles, I should have asked you as well.”
“Yes, you should. But I’ve asked Emma to lunch, so run along.”
So Emma was in seventh heaven. Excited as a schoolgirl, she chattered about her life all through lunch, saying that her husband had bullied her and that her colleagues had bullied her. She was sure that she was bringing out the strong protective side of Charles’s character, not knowing that he didn’t have one and was damning her as a professional victim.
“This Jeremy Laggat-Brown who used to be Ryan,’’ said Patrick over lunch. “His Paris alibi checks out?”
“Watertight. And why should he want to shoot his OWE daughter?”
“Well, I’ll start in Herris Cum Magna and then I’ll speak to Jason Peterson this evening,” said Patrick.
“You can’t. He’s in Bermuda, remember?”
“Forgot. I’ve still got contacts in the police. Before you asked me, I decided to do a bit of checking up on my own. I’ll find out from them what they’re doing about tracing Harrison Peterson. They’ll have the airports and ports covered, I know that, but I don’t want to go over old ground locally. Also, I’ll check the libraries for old reports about his fraud case and get a photograph.”
“Have the police found out yet what kind of gun was used?”
“Didn’t I tell you? Now, that’s a very interesting thing. It was a sniper rifle. A Parker-Hale M-85. It’s a first-rate sniper rifle, capable of precision fire up to ranges of nine hundred metres. The weapon has a silent safety catch, a threaded muzzle for flash suppressor, and an integral dovetail mount that accepts a variety of sights. Sort of thing a professional assassin would use.”
“I